


read your mind when you don't wanna talk

by antoineroussel



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Character, Chronic Illness, Deaf Character, Developing Relationship, Disabled Character, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Ménière's disease, Patrice and Jamie are Deaf, patrice has a communication kink, these tags are all over the place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9420833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antoineroussel/pseuds/antoineroussel
Summary: Patrice isn’t sure how he thought it was a good idea to start talking to Brad, but he did. After the barbecue, they add each other on Snapchat and Patrice coyly adds his number to Brad’s contacts after asking permission.





	

**Author's Note:**

> woo.... more of this
> 
> more notes at the end
> 
> and again, i hope you enjoy ahhh i really loved the feedback on my first fic for this au
> 
> i might make this a series?

Patrice isn’t sure how he thought it was a good idea to start talking to Brad, but he did. After the barbecue, they add each other on Snapchat and Patrice coyly adds his number to Brad’s contacts after asking permission.

He sends a few pictures, mostly of food, his dog, and works-in-progress. (Brad replies with pictures of his own dog, mirror selfies, and lots of emojis.)

They don’t actually see each other again for two weeks- at Jamie’s birthday party. Patrice gets there earlier to help, and because he likes the Benns’ apartment. It doesn’t make the weird noises his own dorm does, and Jordie always lends his bedroom out as a hiding place. At first, he just helps prepare some of the food and works on stitch samplers. He knows there’ll be a student fair in early autumn, and he already has a booth rented, so he might as well have something to show alongside the Etsy cards. On around the third square, he starts to get  _ the feeling.  _ Not the most apt description, but Patrice doesn’t have any better words for it, even after so many years.

He stands up too quickly, immediately regretting everything, and the look on his face must say it all, because Jamie shoots him a sympathetic glance as he rushes toward the bathroom. He doesn’t know how long the vertigo will last, but he isn’t going to chance it, so he kneels with his head on the toilet lid and waits for something to come up. His ears start ringing soon after. Patrice closes his eyes against it and puts his hearing aids on the bathroom sink.

It doesn’t do him any good to forget why he usually stays home.

When the pounding in his ears reaches its peak, a hand touches his shoulder gently. He doesn’t look up, but gestures vaguely to the direction of the counter. Whoever it is hands his hearing aids to him, and he supposes he should humor the person, but when he lifts his head to put the devices back in, a wave of nausea hits him. Patrice shudders a little bit, then lets himself be pulled into a hug, because what else can he do? It doesn’t hurt that the embrace is warm and sort of soothing, holding him still while his head spins. A jacket is pulled over his head. He breathes a sigh out through his nose when the dizziness fades and the ringing lessens to an echo.

Patrice puts his hearing aids back in whilst still under the jacket, because now he’s a little embarrassed. He wants to say sorry for hogging the bathroom for probably a half hour, and also mostly to get off of his knees while he can.

When he ducks and comes back up into the harsh light with tousled hair, he sees Brad, staring at him and looking no less than horrified. He can relate. Patrice has now gone from mildly abashed to mortified in around three seconds.

“I’m-” he starts to say aloud, but Brad is faster than him.

“You don’t have to explain, or talk at all if you don’t want to. I just like saw you- like, slumped over? And I was really scared for a second? I didn’t think anything super bad happened, but you just seemed like in pain, and I didn’t know what was wrong, so-” Patrice cuts him off with a hand to his chest. “Just tell me you’re okay?” he says, small and lilting.

“I’m okay. It happens sometimes,” he replies, and he knows that he’s probably whispering because his own voice can get too loud for him. He also knows that he sounds weird, because Aunt Eleanore told him that. He doesn’t listen to people enough to know the difference. 

Brad doesn’t mention any of this, just furrows his brows and stands them both up. “Do you need anything?”

Patrice shakes his head and opens the bathroom door. “No, sitting with you really helped. I’m just going to get some water. Sorry if I scared you,” he gets out, stuttering a little. Brad follows him out with a gentle pat, and Patrice goes to the kitchen so he can eat cheese fondue and hate himself as much as humanly possible.

When Brad and Tyler go outside to check on the other hockey bros, he taps Jamie (who is making a cute little fruit plate) and motions for him.

“ _ What’s wrong? _ ” he asks, but it seems like he knows what’s wrong, because he doesn’t seem worried at all.

“ _ Why do I embarrass myself in front of everybody who tries to like me? _ ” he signs mournfully, with an added mock funeral procession. “ _ Bury me, please. _ ”

Jamie looks at him, unmoved, and shrugs. “ _ You’ve embarrassed yourself in front of me, but I still like you. Brad probably still thinks you’re hot, _ ” Patrice nods, even though he wants to argue, and stares heavily into the bowl of cheese. “ _ Stop eating that. It’s salty. _ ”

“ _ I’m full of salt, it’s a miracle that I’m not constantly having episodes with my sodium level. _ ”

Jamie purses his lips and snatches the bowl from him before he can make another bad joke.

 

-

 

Patrice sees him again later at night when less people are there (Antoine is in the corner, practically sitting on Sharp, but he isn’t all too worried about them.)

He sits next to Brad, and before he can open his mouth to apologize, Brad is already talking. “So is talking alright with you, or did you only talk earlier because you had to? I don’t want to like, inconvenience you or anything, you know.”

Patrice is confused and slightly endeared. “No, it’s okay, I don’t like to talk most of the time, because people say I sound weird. Also if I talk too loud I get...  um, well you saw earlier.”

Brad’s shoulders curve in, and he speaks more quietly. “Oh jeez, I hope I’m not too loud? Are you nauseous?”

“No, you’re fine, my voice is just louder to me, since- wait, has anyone explained my condition to you?” Brad shakes his head, with that face most people get when they realize his hearing loss isn’t something he was born with. It’s that questioning- what do you mean,  _ condition _ \- look. “I have Meniere’s disease. It causes vertigo and imbalance, mostly, but hearing loss too. The thing earlier was an episode. I saw it coming though. Mine is pretty bad. The- it’s kind of complex.”

He nods in comprehension. “I get it. Like, I’m not happy that your thing is especially sucky, but I am glad that you weren’t just fuckin’ bowled over by it. That looked really scary.”

Patrice smiles reassuringly at his almost concerned expression. “Yeah, but it’s really just a major inconvenience,” He covers his mouth, embarrassed, after stuttering through the last word. “Sorry.”

Brad blinks several times before opening his mouth. “Dude, you’re good.”

They watch cake decorating videos until Jamie and Tyler are back inside.

 

-

 

Another week, and Patrice finds himself at Brad’s house off-campus, which is amazing, because all of his fraternity roommates are away visiting family, and it’s a really nice house. “They’re human disasters, so basically mess with anything you want, because they don’t care and they’ve probably done worse to it,” Brad tells him, a little bitter. Despite his own wild ways, Brad seems to be the one who cleans up for everyone.

So while he finishes up with some house chores, Patrice plays with Harvey (Brad’s bulldog, which is honestly the most appropriate breed for him. He wonders distantly if Harvey and Wilson would get along.) He also finds a lot of hockey memorabilia that he doesn’t want to touch. Vintage jerseys, trophies, pucks with dates written on them in silver Sharpie. Okay, he does want to touch them. He wants to cradle them lovingly and ask Brad where each and every single one came from, but he won’t.

Brad tells him anyway. “Found the temple, eh?” he says, and Patrice starts from his deep contemplation to see him at the door with a grin on his face. “Yeah, these are for some of my first games. I don’t collect a lot of autographed stuff, but the pucks do have my signature on the back, for organizational purposes.”

“Is all of it yours?”

“Nah, it’s a collaborative effort. Those cards are Sid’s, because only a nerd like him would collect hockey trading cards as an adult. And Price is our goalie, so the Jacques Plante mask is him, for sure. One time G- you haven’t met him, but Claude’s a riot, really- he nearly dismembered Sid’s part of the shrine because they were having a lover’s quarrel as usual, but he calmed down after he realized that the hockey gods would hate him if he flushed a Bobby Orr rookie card down the toilet, right? Like, that’s not cool to do, even if he hates Sid sometimes. So G’s going to go up to tell him- hey, I didn’t mess with your shit- when Sid’s Russian boyfriend drives up from Toronto and nearly dismembers  _ us _ , holy shit, scariest day of my life. I thought I was going to die. And then when Sid comes down, he acts like we’re best friends and like he didn’t just threaten to saw off all of our limbs with a butter knife. I kind of like him,” Brad rambles. Patrice listens to all of it, although a small migraine is coming on from the bright light filtering in through the window.

“Wow,” he replies simply, not sure what else to say. It sounds like his roommates are weird- hockey players usually are, as far as his expertise goes. He hasn’t watched hockey in so long, but now that he actually has a reason to be interested again, it’s hard not to feel giddy.

“Oh, um, anyway I came up to tell you food’s ready, if you want some. Didn’t mean to rant at you.”

Patrice blinks. “Oh. No, it’s fine,” And it is. He actually likes Brad’s voice, likes to know the stories behind things. Especially when it has meaning to someone else. “I’ll come down with you then,” He usually doesn’t eat at other people’s houses because of the dietary restrictions, but he’s hungry, and he doesn’t want to seem like a lost cause. 

As they walk to the kitchen table, Patrice can feel his doctor glaring at him.

Brad gets him a plate, grinning as he sets it down, and no way is he going to say no to that, possible consequences be damned. “I can’t cook really anything but mac and cheese. It has broccoli though, so it’s healthy, I swear,” Patrice smiles and shakes his head. Yeah, he’ll probably regret this. “I can just put salt in mine,” Brad murmurs as he gets his own.

“What?”

“I didn’t- I read some stuff, and like, sodium makes your thing worse, right? So I didn’t put salt, and Brick cheese isn’t really salty, so...” He chews on his lip. “Is that wrong? Or-”

“No, you’re right. Thank you. Seriously, that’s… Nobody does that for me,” His voice wavers, and he hopes he can blame it on being unused to verbal speech. “I usually have to eat at home,” And Patrice is about to do something stupid like  _ start crying,  _ so he shoves a forkful of mac and cheese into his mouth.

“That’s stupid, it took me like, one minute to make a Pinterest board for Meniere’s stuff,” Brad says, frowning, and Patrice nearly chokes. His family has never even tried to be accommodating like this. He almost wants to tell them about Brad, see if they even catch the guilt-trip for what it is.

“My parents don’t really want to make me a Pinterest board,” he says, trying to explain in a way that won’t reveal his hurt. They don’t want to acknowledge that there’s anything  _ wrong  _ with him. Nobody does. Even his brother, who can admit that he suffers through a lot (which is more than Maman can do) doesn’t want to deal with it.

“I’ll fight them,” Brad mutters, and Patrice doesn’t doubt his sincerity for a second.

 

-

 

**bergy**

He made me a pin board

**ty**

like for yr snaps or sappy stuff tht reminds him of u? that’s gay

**jabenn**

a deaf college student’s mixtape

**bergy**

No for tips about meniere’s I almost cried into a plate of low-salt mac and cheese today

**jabenn**

he’s taking my place as your best friend…. i can taste it

**rouss**

what person puts macaroni in plate

**jobenn**

i feel like a salt joke is in order but i’m not sure about the delivery

**ty**

suplex him and tell him to miss u w/ that gay shit,,, emotions are for chumps

**bergy**

I hate all of you

 

-

 

The next time Patrice comes over, it’s almost dark, after he gets off the phone with his dad, and he just wants to sleep and cry, but instead he texts Brad to ask if he could stop by. Brad replies with an agreement and worried exclamation points.

When he opens the door, his brow is wrinkled in concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Sort of,” And Patrice stutters even on that, blinking harshly. He can feel it.

Brad seems to know what  _ it _ is, and he doesn’t say anything more, just gently tugs him into the house and wraps something warm around him like he did in Jamie’s bathroom. Patrice finds himself falling onto the couch and shaking through the beginnings of an episode. Brad gets situated next to him, puts an inquisitive hand just under his ear. Patrice flinches, but he’s quick to lean into it. He couldn’t make out Brad’s expression if he tried, so he doesn’t try.

“Hey, if I’m making it worse, you can totally hit me, but can I put your head on my chest?” He’s whispering, and it doesn’t make it worse. In fact, the ringing in Patrice’s ears settles for just a moment. He doesn’t respond, just clutches at Brad’s shirt and hopes that he can be able to function for one fucking second. He isn’t, of course, but it turns out he doesn’t have to be. Brad cradles his head with one hand and turns off the nearby lamp with the other. He stays like that for a moment, then- maybe- presses a knuckle into the base of Patrice’s skull. Patrice is surprised by his ability to make a confused noise. “Um, sorry, like, the video said it would hurt at first? But they said pushing under it might help if-if you want me to-?”

Oh. Right. Brad reads about this. Spends his time thinking about ways he could make Patrice’s daily life better. He  _ barely  _ holds back tears at that thought, just nods and wipes his eyes self-consciously. After a few more minutes of deep breaths and Brad tentatively squeezing his neck, he can actually think of something besides Reasons To Cry, and pokes his head out of the warm something (which is a blanket, maybe?)

“Can you talk to me? It- helps, really,” he says, unconvincing with the amount of sniffling he’s doing.

Brad nods, then he looks around like he’s trying to find something to talk about. “Yeah, of course, um, so you know how I was saying that Sid is the only adult nerdy enough to collect cards? I was sort of lying, some of those are mine. Well, the ones in the box are. They’re actually from when I was a kid, but sometimes I’ll pick up new ones at thrift stores and stuff. Some of them are kinda cool, I guess, if you think hockey cards are capable of being cool. Like some have jersey pieces in them and stuff, you know. I’m not as used to collecting as he is. Sid collects everything. He has an American quarter collection in his windowsill. The Russian ones are probably supplied by his boyfriend, so they don’t really count, but they’re pretty cool too. Like, a lot of weird colors.”

It goes like that for a while, only stopping once, when Patrice sobs because his stomach is churning. He quickly waves for Brad to continue, and he does.

He falls asleep quickly.

 

-

 

When he wakes up, his hearing aids are on the table beside him and his shoes are neatly wedged against the couch. Patrice curls into the blanket, now covering him, because it smells good and everything is blessedly silent. The only thing motivating him to bother putting the  _ horrifying contraptions  _ (as Antoine so rancorously refers to them) back in his ears, is the thought of hearing Brad’s voice again.

That’s… sappy.

And also because he smells food and he didn’t eat last night.

Patrice grabs them, adjusts the blanket on his shoulders, and makes his way to the kitchen. Brad notices him before he gets to replace his hearing aids, so he gestures to them to make it known that it’s too early for him to hear.

Brad isn’t perturbed.

“ _ Food? _ ” he signs, looking almost embarrassed. “ _ I made breakfast, _ ” Patrice makes some kind of noise, probably unattractive as he can feel it in his throat. “ _ I’m a good friend? _ ” Maybe he doesn’t mean to make a questioning expression, but he does, and it makes Patrice’s chest hurt.

He nods. “ _ Best, perfect, _ ” And it’s clear that these aren’t words Brad has Googled, but he seems to get the gist. Brad grins, and Patrice- he’s weak. That’s just all there is to say. He puts the devices in and walks around the table.

“There were a lot of words to learn in like, thirty minutes, but now I can tell you that the menu includes banana pancakes and this awesome anti-vertigo smoothie thing I found, like, apparently lemons have this good ass shit in them, called- hey, is something wrong? You seem dizzy.”

Patrice shakes his head, puts his hands on the counter on either side of Brad and kisses the corners of his mouth chastely. Brad shudders, not unpleasantly, but he hesitates anyway to make sure. “Is that okay?”

“Totally, just like, there’s something I have to tell you, because I don’t want to lead you on, you know,” Patrice furrows his brows as he sees the other man wring his hands against his waistband. “I’m… I’m asexual, I guess.”

He thinks he’s heard that before, a few times, usually attached to purple and grey flag earrings on Etsy, but he doesn’t really know what it means. He gets the gist of it, maybe. “I have to admit, I don’t know what that means, really. I know I’m more than okay with it though. Is it that you don’t like sex? Or you don’t think about it a lot?”

Brad’s look softens, and he’s glad for it. “Yeah! Well, it’s more the second one. I would actually be super up for sex, with you, at least, but it’s just… I don’t actively want it or feel a need for it from someone in specific, um. Yeah.”

Patrice kisses him again, more soundly this time, and when he pulls away, Brad seems dazed. “You never have to worry about that. And that’s not- leading me on, even if you waited to tell me. We kissed once just now.”

Brad nods, then he grins. “Mm. Twice now, eh?” And he goes in for another. “Thrice? Is that a word?”

Patrice just snorts. “I think so, yeah. Can I tell Jamie and Co. that we’ve eloped? I’ve been narrating my gay angst on his groupchat, and at least one person in that chat needs conflict resolution,” Brad laughs at that, bright and surprised, like he didn’t expect for Patrice to have been talking about him.

“You’re so cute,” he says. “Yeah, definitely, if that’s what you want.”

“You say that now, but soon you won’t be able to put up with me for more than a minute.”

 

**bergy**

Just kissed and ate breakfast with Someone™ any guesses?

**jabenn**

that one quiet TA in our children’s psych class… i don’t trust him pat

**rouss**

your dog?

**jobenn**

The lead singer of smash mouth?

**ty**

marchy fuckening called me at 5 am basically screaming that u were on his couch 

**ty**

breakfast was mentioned. im using the hardcore power of inference rn

 

-

 

Brad does put up with him. He comes to Patrice’s lonely dorm room after practice to wait outside the bathroom for him. When he stops retching, Brad is there with a sympathetic kiss on his forehead and a bottle of Gatorade. He lets Patrice rant about not being able to keep down Valium for more than five minutes and brings him smoothies on the mornings he doesn’t have class.

And at some point, he realizes what seems to be somewhat of an oversight on both sides. They’re sitting on the couch again, after an hour long attack of vertigo, and Patrice has his face buried in Brad’s hoodie, sighing as the dizziness winds down.

“Do you-” Brad starts, but he gets sheepish when Patrice looks up to acknowledge him. “Sorry. This is weird. But. Do you… like my clothes? Like, how they feel or something?”

Patrice pauses. He does. He really does, and it’s sort of embarrassing. All of Brad’s clothes smell like the ocean and burnt matches. It soothes him like nothing else can. He just nods, mostly because he doesn’t want to explain any further.

“So you’re probably too big to fit into any of my shirts,” Patrice snorts at that, and Brad scowls. “Shut up. But, uh, you can maybe just keep one with you? If it helps any.”

He ends up taking three, then honest-to-god smothering Brad with affection on his way out. It’s the least Patrice can do for him, and his efforts seem to be appreciated. “Fuck,” Brad says, breathing hard when he pulls away. He’s beaming even as he swats at Patrice incessantly. “You’re not bribing me out of another sweatshirt. Get out of here,” He steals one more kiss before shutting the door in his face. Patrice has a shit-eating grin on his face the whole walk home.

 

-

 

Classes start back up again, and Patrice learns from Tyler that Brad is taking an ASL course. He, as is usual for him, starts crying. He still isn’t used to being accommodated so easily.

He starts a new project, one that hopefully won’t take too long to finish. In between, he knits cactus-shaped pin cushions because he has too much time on his hands for a college student and because he likes sending Brad pictures of him knitting useless things. 

It’s about a month into the fall semester when Brad comes to his dorm for the second time (and actually stays, unlike the first, more unfortunate occasion.) Once Patrice had realized that he wouldn’t be getting a roommate any time soon, he’d redecorated appropriately. There was already a cork board when he arrived, but now there are two dress forms, one half-covered in fabric, and an extra desk in place of a second bed. It works for him, having a pile of boxes in the corner, working with whatever he has on hand. Brad seems amused by this when he takes a look around. He sits at the desk and touches Patrice’s sewing machine curiously. “This is nice.”

“Not having a roommate, or the sewing machine?”

“Your whole set-up. I like it,” He points to the boxes in the corner, gesturing toward the doodled labels. “Like, I don’t even know what taffeta is. Also- hey, weren’t those weird cacti in your story earlier?” Patrice snickers and nods as he pulls out a little paper package. “What’s that?”

“It’s for you,” he says, and Brad gapes as the parcel is dropped into his hands. “It’s getting cold, so…” He opens it delicately to reveal a folded beige sweater, and although he seems pleased, he doesn’t look like he quite understands. Patrice unfolds it for him, tracing some of the stitches at the front with his index finger. “It’s a honeycomb stitch,” he explains, and Brad’s face brightens with recognition. He touches it again, this time with a sense of reverence.

“Oh,” Brad says lamely, still gaping. “How long did it take?”

“Almost a month, um, I think, yeah,” It actually took him two weeks. Something like that usually would take longer with his frequent bouts of nausea, but his episodes are down to less than once a week, and hey, he’ll take his victories where he can get them. It’s only fitting that he makes something for Brad in the time that he has, since it’s pretty obvious where the downtrend in Meniere’s attacks started. It’s a sort of vicious cycle, with stress being a main trigger for him and most of his stress being related to when the vertigo will rear its ugly head again. Since Patrice started spending time with Brad (stealing his clothes? Drinking the smoothies he makes? Getting out more often?) he hasn’t really worried about it so much.

Brad looks amazed, his expression open and vulnerable, like he has to convince Patrice to let him keep it. “Can I put it on?”

“Of course,” he replies, successfully keeping the incredulousness out of his own voice. “Let me?” Brad nods. He’s strangely quiet. Patrice takes the paper from his hands and slips the sweater down over him until it’s settled as it should be. Before even thinking about how it might look on him, Patrice smooths Brad’s lightly mussed hair back with his fingers. He doesn’t miss the satisfied sigh it provokes, and that by itself makes him emotional.

“Jesus,” Brad says, even as he throws himself at Patrice. “You-” He starts out, but just shakes his head rather than speaking again. Patrice holds him close, his grip tightening when he thinks about how Brad is so soft for him. “Come here,” Brad tells him, tugging at his shirt even though there isn’t a single part of them not already touching.

Brad pulls him down onto the bed and just- wraps around Patrice like he’s meant to be under him. His arms resting on Patrice’s shoulders, socked heels pressing into the small of his back. Brad kisses him stupid, and he feels like he’s been waiting for this forever. Whining into Patrice’s mouth and pushing his knees out to straighten; they were bent to keep Brad from getting crushed under him, but he doesn’t seem to mind the extra weight.

“Fuck,” Patrice says when he pulls away for a moment to  _ breathe. _ “I’ve never had this before. I never want to do anything else.”

Brad looks up at him, eyes hooded but inquisitive and otherwise untelling. “What about sex?”

He’s probably expecting ‘I don’t need that’ or ‘It’s not a big deal’ but Patrice’s answer is something he’s thought about for a while, and he speaks without hesitation. “This is better than that,” Brad’s eyes go all big suddenly, mouth parted just a little. His breath hitches, and Patrice tells him more in between wet kisses. “You’re perfect like this, can’t stop thinking about how you take care of me,  _ crisse,  _ you’re so sweet,” He doesn’t ever talk this much, usually self-conscious of his stutter, but now he can’t even think about that. Kissing Brad- who looks at him like he’s a god, who is wearing the sweater he made, who looks so welcoming and warm underneath him- is a good distraction.

“Patrice,” Brad sighs into his mouth, sounding almost exasperated with the praise, but it’s offset by the way he smiles slow, his cheeks flushing pink. “Didn’t take you to be a flatterer.”

“I’m not a-” He tries to get the word out, but his mouth isn’t working the way he wants it to, and he quickly gets frustrated. Especially since it seems that Brad doesn’t believe what he said. Patrice isn’t truly deterred, but it’s a bit discouraging. Brad frowns at him, realizing he’s upset, and massages his jaw placatingly.

“Tell me more, eh?” Brad tries to settle him again, and- honestly, he’s really not mad at all, he’s just feeling a little snubbed, and he doesn’t feel like talking anymore. Patrice purses his lips, stubborn. That doesn’t last very long though, when Brad starts wringing his hands, and his expression goes stricken like he’s afraid he did something wrong. “I didn’t mean- I’m-”

So much for not talking. “Shh, you’re okay, I’m not upset, I just want to tell you how much I appreciate everything you do for me, and it- it gets hard sometimes.”

Brad nods, and the devastated look thankfully disappears. “I know. I just kind of wish that everyone had done stuff for you before; you deserve that,” he murmurs.

Patrice’s heart melts a little at that. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, honestly,” He takes Brad’s hands to put them back over his own shoulders. “Let me take care of you too?” A soft nod. He smiles and starts to run the back of his knuckles along Brad’s cheekbone, taking in the way his lashes fan out across his cheeks. “What do you need?”

“I don’t know,” he says, abashed. “Can you just, like, hold me? This is cozy as fuck, and I kind of want to take a nap. Also, like kisses. Those are very required.”

Patrice pulls him into the crook of his neck, kisses his face all over, and eventually falls asleep without even pulling blankets over them.

 

-

 

When his attacks are down to twice a month, he thinks it’s safe to go see one of Brad and Tyler’s games at the rink. Jamie is definitely coming with him, and if it gets too loud, he can just take his hearing aids out. He worries about it anyway, of course.

It’s nothing like what he was expecting.

He guesses he should have known that a college hockey game would be more quiet than a professional one. So that isn’t a problem. He brings his own food, and no one bothers him about it. Patrice realizes, belatedly in the second period, that he’s never even seen Brad skate before, and now he’s forced to reckon with the fact that two of three goals the team makes are all him. He doesn’t yell, even though he desperately wants to, when Brad scores an empty-netter that makes the final score 3 - 2. Jamie, meanwhile, waves incessantly at Tyler, garnering the attention of a few other teammates who nudge him in jest.

After the game, Jamie drags him to wait outside the locker rooms until everyone is dressed. The guy who made the initial goal, Crosby, comes out first, and gives them a wave.

“ _ He’s the captain, _ ” Jamie tells him, as Crosby walks up to presumably talk to them.

“Hi, you’re Patrice, right?” He nods, smiling as agreeably as possible. “I’m Sid; Marchy talks about you a lot.”

Ah. “He talks about you too.”

Sid grins a little. “He talks, in general,” And that does make Patrice snort, because it’s true, and Crosby looks like he needs a bit of commiseration. Sid turns to Jamie. “Now I’ve seen you before, I think you might be in my Human Behavior class.”

Jamie looks surprised that he’s even being addressed, and he looks to Patrice for a translation. “ _ I think I have seen you before, you sit in the front? _ ”

Patrice relays the message, but Sid nods enough that it seems like he already understands. Some signs are more simple to discern than others. “Yeah,” he nods once more, then the goalie and the rest of the team is pushing their way out of the locker room. He wants to meet all of them, sure, but he sees Brad, and tackling him is the number one priority. Not actually tackling though, Patrice gets shy at the last minute and just stands close in front of him, staring at his feet.

“Hey,” Brad says, quiet under the ruckus in the hallway. 

“That wrist shot was great,” he replies, and Brad laughs. He gives a slow smile. “Did you tell them we were dating?”

“Yeah, um, they won’t give us any crap about it, like half of them-”

Patrice kisses him, and his statement is proven by the disembodied wolf whistle that echoes through the hall. “I just wanted to know if I could do that.”

“You can definitely do that,” Brad nods sagely. “But now we should probably go back to my house. With the team, if that’s okay.”

He looks around. Someone has an unamused teammate in a headlock. The goalie, Price, is taking a video of it on his phone without dropping his poker face once. Tyler and Jamie are laughing about something or another, while Sid looks utterly perplexed. This isn’t the kind of group he’d be found dead with.

“Yeah, of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> notes of doom:  
> \- meniere's disease is some real ass debilitating shit  
> \- the hockey team in this is mostly based on the 2016 wcoh team canada roster (with some exceptions)  
> \- bet you didn't expect ace!marchy..... here he is..... beautiful bastard........  
> \- patrice's family situation is le fucked
> 
> come yell with me (or at me??) @ antoineroussel.tumblr.com


End file.
